


The Fool and the King of Spades

by Ribby



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 16:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribby/pseuds/Ribby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He deals the cards to find the answer... but the answer surprises even him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fool and the King of Spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jou](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jou).



> I had intended this to be shorter, but Geremy wanted his say; and then he just kept talking. *grin* Some of you may recognize Geremy, perhaps--I'll admit he's inspired by several of my favorite charming card-sharps. The lyrics at the beginning are taken from Sting's song "Shape of My Heart," and are really what sparked this whole idea.

_He deals the cards as a meditation_

_And those he plays never suspect_

_He doesn't play for the money he wins_

_He doesn't play for respect_

_He deals the cards to find the answer_

_The sacred geometry of chance_

_The hidden law of a probable outcome_

_The numbers lead a dance._

Geremy was a fixture at the Star and Tree--had been since before the War. With his reddish hair and unusual eyes, he was hard to miss--and then there was his trademark duster coat, folded neatly over the back of his chair. Even so, he always took the back table, his back to the wall, facing the door. He'd said it was so he could see who came in, but others argued it was so no one could get to him without his notice.

Three decks of cards lay in front of him. One was shiny and new, a playing deck--that was what he used for fleecing the unwary. The other was his true playing deck, the edges worn from handling, backs and fronts worn smooth.

The third...that was his own deck, the one no one else saw. It was an older, more expansive deck, with more cards, and true meanings the regular cards never had. He used it to divine those he played against, when they entered; it paid to have a sense of your opponent before they sat down at the table, and Geremy never played to lose.

The man heading toward him looked ordinary enough, dressed in battered leather and homespun, boots dusty and worn. But the cards--well, they told a different story. The Knight of Cups, the King of Cups, the Emperor, Justice... an important, well-favored man. This was more than a mere Ranger he faced.

Geremy smiled and beckoned the man to the table. "Care for a game, sir?" He began shuffling his proper playing deck, and as the man divested himself of coat and sword, dealt out a quick hand. Looking at it, he nodded... all Kings and Aces. He settled in--this would be the game of a lifetime.

**********

They'd been playing for nearly three hours, and Geremy was surprised to find it had been that long. He'd won two games, as had Strider (which Geremy *knew* couldn't be his proper name, but he'd learned long ago not to ask). He was a canny opponent, bluffing some hands and not others, and two games hadn't been nearly enough for Geremy to discover his system.

They laid down their hands--and for a change, both of them had been bluffing off of terrible hands. Neither of them had won that round.  
Strider chuckled--a sound Geremy decided he wanted to hear more of--and suggested they play something different to see who won.

"What did you have in mind?"

Strider tapped Geremy's deck. "Do you know the game twenty-one? Two cards dealt, one up, one down, twenty-one wins?"

Geremy smiled a shark's smile. Twenty-one was his best game. "I do."

Strider nodded. "You deal--one game, winner takes all."

"All?"

Strider smiled a grim smile. "All."

Geremy felt that itch again, the one he only got against the best opponents. He shuffled the cards until they felt "right", then dealt one card up and one down to each of them.

He had the ten of diamonds showing and the nine of clubs down. He winced. A good hand from the game standpoint, but revealing if you knew the meanings--money and discord. Strider's hand showed the king of spades--a soldier's card, not surprising.

A moment's thought and Geremy decided to stand on his nineteen. Strider looked sharply at him, then tapped the deck. "One more." Geremy shook his head. Either the man was a risk-taker of the highest degree, or... He shrugged and dealt the second card up--the two of hearts.

Strider smiled again, a real smile this time, and turned over his card--the nine of spades. He had won with a perfect twenty-one. Geremy stared at his deck--he *knew* he had shuffled carefully. The king and nine of spades--this man was dangerous. But the two of hearts... intriguing.

Geremy let out a startled breath. "Your game, sir. And fair is fair.. what would you have of me in return?"

Strider looked contemplative for a moment, then tapped his hand. "Tell me my cards, Geremy--these, then your other deck. I wish to know my future."

No-one had ever asked him that before--and Geremy was reluctant to indulge this man's whim. But then he caught Strider's eyes, unguarded; the sorrow and age in them was enough to shock him into agreeing.

"As you wish. But I shall need to know your true name, *Strider*, or else it will be no true reading."

Strider's eyes narrowed, and he studied Geremy for a moment. Ordinarily, Geremy would have projected his best "trust me" face--but with this man, he knew better. Strider nodded once, sharply, and said, "My name is Aragorn."

"Aragorn." Geremy liked the shape of that name--a strong name, but a gentle one. "Thank you for the gift of your name." He didn't know why he added that, but when he saw a smile break across Aragorn's features, well, the gamble had been worth it after all.

He looked again at the playing hand set before Aragorn, then up at him. "King and nine of spades--two soldiers, one noble, one soon to be. And the two of hearts, which binds them together and wins the bout. There will be someone in your future, my lord, who will mean everything to you--another soldier. He will give you the courage and strength to go on when all else fails."

Aragorn's face remained impassive. "And the others, the true reading cards?"

Geremy slid the deck from his coat pocket, and tapped the cards out onto the table. He shuffled quickly, no fancy tricks, but thoroughly, waiting until he felt the cards "wake up"--he had never found a better name for what he felt, cool power pouring from hand to hand. He spread them out in a fan across the table. "Pick one."

Aragorn did, and handed it to Geremy, who turned it over. The King of Swords. "Another." The Magician. "Another."

This time, two cards came with the draw; but when Aragorn made to return one to the deck, Geremy's hand on his stopped him. "No--those two cards are together in the reading--they are meant to be together, whatever they mean." He turns them over--the Dark Tower, and the Lovers. An odd combination.

"One more." Aragorn draws, and Geremy turns the card over--and flinches. The Fool. His card.

Geremy took a deep breath, then interpreted the layout for Aragorn. "The King of Swords is you at your most true, your innermost self--a stern but gentle warrior and ruler, one who will be loved and respected. The Magician is how others see you--constantly shifting guises and loyalties, but always with others' best interest at heart. The Tower and the Lovers--folly and love tied together, but not with a happy ending--though the two of hearts in the play hand would dispute that. So perhaps a bittersweet ending... you must lose something to gain your truest self. And the Fool--for whatever reason, I am the Fool." Here Geremy stopped for a moment. Either he would be part of Aragorn's life to come--or he would make himself so in the future. "When you become King," he said, knowing he had spoken true by the widening of Aragorn's eyes. "you may need a Fool--for every ruler needs someone to tell him when he is being wise--and when he is being Foolish."

Aragorn nodded his head. "Yes, that clarifies much. Thank you, Geremy--you have the true Gift." Geremy smiled--from this man, that was a great compliment. "There is one more boon I would have of you, and this will pay for all."

"What would you have, my lord?"

That gentle smile again. "First, my name is Aragorn--you have asked it fairly, so use it. I would have one night, in a comfortable bed, for I have been traveling rough so long I've forgotten what one looks like. And I would have you there with me--if you would."

Even if Geremy were not attracted to Aragorn, he could hardly refuse--but he was being _asked_, by a man he respected more and more as the moments passed. He stood, and extended his hand. "I would, and gladly."

Aragorn took Geremy's hand, and slid up to clasp his forearm. Geremy matched the clasp, aware of the significance it carried--a warrior's grip, trust and affection contained within it. He gently released his hand, and slid it down Aragorn's wrist to his hand, where he twined their fingers together, and tugged gently.

Aragorn smiled, and let himself be led up a curving flight of stairs to Geremy's room, a large, well-furnished chamber. "They think well of you here," he commented.

"My cards bring more custom than their beer--and they know that." Geremy grinned, and Aragorn answered it with another chuckle.

Geremy, long used to watching people, saw how the copper washtub in the corner kept catching Aragorn's eye. Oh, he knew that feeling--when all other comforts fell aside for a bath, a chance to be *clean*. He bowed. "Shall I draw you a bath, my lord?" Enough teasing in his voice to keep the title light--but he meant it, even so.

"Oh Eru... yes. I haven't had a proper bath in... you know, I can't remember!" Aragorn's sheepish grin was a wonderful sight.

Geremy clattered back down the stairs, and up again, until the washtub was full. "Your bath, sir." Aragorn smiled, quickly divested himself of clothes (though not so quickly that Geremy couldn't admire his long, well-muscled body), and sank into the hot water with a moan of pleasure.

"Gods... oh, this is bliss."

Geremy couldn't help himself--he knelt by the tub, fine soap in hand, and asked, "May I bathe you, Aragorn?" The smile was all he needed. His hands lingered over shoulders, the long column of neck, worked out long-held kinks in the muscle, each exhalation of pleasure from Aragorn's lips making him smile. "Up, now," he said, and Aragorn rose, water sheeting from his strong body.

Geremy washed him diligently, being careful to keep his touch light, and when the last of the soap had been rinsed from Aragorn's skin, Geremy gently guided him onto a folded towel at the side of the bath, then did what he wanted most--that hair.

He soaked it and scrubbed until it squeaked under his fingers, massaging and stroking Aragorn's scalp until Aragorn's whole body rumbled with what sounded almost like a purr... then worked his fingers through it until not a single tangle was left.

As he began to dry Aragorn, Aragorn's eyes opened, a brilliant blue. "I wondered if your hands were as dexterous with anything other than cards... now I know." Smiling, he took the towel from Geremy and finished toweling himself dry quickly.

Geremy found himself at a loss... he had little experience with a long seduction, and less with men. But Aragorn, as he had for much of the night, put him at ease, gently aiding in the removal of shirt, pants, small-clothes, until Geremy was as naked as he.

They each looked their fill, Geremy marveling again at Aragorn's form, while Aragorn was amused by the well-built, strong, lithe body hidden by Geremy's tunics and trews.

It was Aragorn who took the first step, and moved closer to kiss Geremy--and such a kiss he'd never had before from a lover. It spoke of trust, of joy in the contact, and of deep affection. He found himself answering with the same, and they kissed for long minutes, searching and tasting... until Geremy's legs hit the bed and he fell backwards, breaking the kiss. Laughing, he realized Aragorn had deliberately done that--and when he looked up, he found Aragorn laughing as well, his eyes snapping merrily.

Aragorn flung himself at the bed, and they rolled around like puppies, laughing and playing, coming to rest with Aragorn lying on top of Geremy, their laughter slowly tapering off, just staring into each other's eyes and being pleased by what they found.

After a moment, Aragorn broke the stare, and with a last quick kiss, began working his way down Geremy's body, as Geremy had done with him earlier, but using lips instead of fingers. Tracing patterns only he knew the meaning of, he mapped out every sensitive spot Geremy had--and a few he hadn't realized. By the time Aragorn reached for the vial of oil at the bedside, Geremy was nothing but sensation.

He thought he could feel nothing more--that he had been driven as high as his overloaded nerves could stand. But the smooth glide and sharp thrust of Aragorn deep inside him channeled a burst of pleasure up his spine so intense he nearly screamed... and then he did, as Aragorn began to thrust with purpose. Geremy's hands were surely leaving bruises along Aragorn's shoulders from the strength of his grip, and he would apologize later, but at that moment, he felt as if he would fly apart from pleasure, and the sweat-slick skin beneath him was his only anchor.

Aragorn pulled back one last time and thrust deep, angling his hips just so--and this time Geremy did scream, as he fell over the edge and pleasure was all he knew. Just before he fell, he heard Aragorn's triumphant groan...and smiled. He was not alone.

When Geremy surfaced again, he was under the covers, curled around Aragorn, one arm flung over Aragorn's body, fingers lying lax along his ribs. He was relaxed... except for one part, which definitely wasn't. Aragorn's sleep-rusty chuckle woke him further--but it was the movement of Aragorn's arm, pulling one leg forward and shifting back to press firmly against Geremy's awakened cock, that brought him out of sleep. "Sure?" was the only thing he could manage.

"Very sure," replied Aragorn, and slicked Geremy's hand with oil.

Their lovemaking this time was slow, sensual, constrained both by sleep and by position... but it felt deeper, more intimate than before. Instead of the lightning-bolts of pleasure, Geremy found himself swamped in slow waves, growing steadily higher and deeper until, with a groan, they fell together, Aragorn's hand guiding his. They lay together until breathing slowed, and then Geremy pulled away (smiling at Aragorn's muted groan at their parting), haphazardly wiped them both clean with a scrap of cloth, and rolled back, curling up at Aragorn's side.

It was only moments before they slept.

  
**********

Geremy awoke with the sun. Rolling over, he realized he was alone, the sheets cold. Smiling sadly, he turned to get out of bed--but something caught his eye. A card, lying on Aragorn's pillow--a Fool, but not the one from his deck. This one was a starker Fool, mostly black ink with a few touches of color--red hair and odd-colored eyes. Those eyes held wisdom, and he wore a wistful smile... and in one hand, there were cards.

Geremy turned the card over. In a stark, hurried hand was written: "For the Fool, who has taught me wisdom--thank you for your cards and your joy and your body. We will see each other again, this I know. Aragorn."

Geremy reached for his teller-deck, kept always at his side, then put it down. No, this was a treasure. He got up and took a small carved-wood chest down from a shelf, opened it, placed the card inside, and closed it again.

  
He would remember. When it was time, he would remember, and a King would have his Fool.


End file.
